It's a Slippery Slope to Eco-Terrorism

I just arrived back at the house from a short-ish jaunt up Grizzly Peak and the ride was all kinds of exciting. First, there is no simple way to go from the flatlands of Berkeley or Oakland into the hills there--they're all going to kick your ass (if you're at my perhaps intermediate level) with approximately 1,400-1,600 feet of climbing in five miles. I chose Claremont today, which takes one from the base of the famous hotel by of the same name winding quickly up the ridge with little to no shade coverage past the halfway point. To rub some salt in, the road also happens to increase in grade from that point on until the Grizzly Peak Boulevard intersection. Bearing right from there takes you to Sibley Regional Park, but I wanted to buzz Tilden today, so left it was.

Grizzly Peak Blvd. is, frankly, a shitty cycling road. Not only does it have very poor pavement pockmarked with plenty of potholes, but there's no shoulder in most places and traffic is a constant, leading to many tense, bar-gripping moments of panic for all but the bravest/stupidest. The payoff comes after a mile or so up the hill in the form of stunning views of the Bay Area: Twin Peaks and Mt. Tam are the only two other vistas that occupy the same class. I stopped at a vista point with an out of place grove of mossy trees and enjoyed the view. For a few minutes at least.

I posted recently about litter and I was dismayed to see that three of these vista points are strewn with trash. Not so dense as to conjure up nightmare images of a landfill on the hill, but enough to make you place your hands firmly in palms and contemplate the basic nature of man. I had worked so hard to get up there I didn't want it spoiled by such thoughts so breathed deep, looked past it and enjoyed the view while I also munched on my confectionery reward--the mind-blowing Trader Joe's PB&J Candy Bar. And then they came.

The Nero Family (not their real names, but what I'll call this unit that seems not to have any morals whatsoever and probably porks barn animals) didn't admire the view for more than thirty-seconds before son and dad began playing the Who Can Chuck the Trash Off Grizzly Peak the Furthest? game. I would like to have confronted them on it, but I thought about it and stopped only because I was wearing cycling cleats that had no grip on the dry and rocky ground, so if we came to blows--and I wouldn't back down on this matter, so it was entirely likely--I'd be hopelessly bowled over. So I instituted Plan B, the plan where I picked up all the garbage I could see in conspicuous sight of the Neros--beer cans, gum wrappers, my candy bar wrapper and some bottlecaps--walked to their car and tossed it in the front seat. Newton's Third Law, or my perversion of it, at least.

From there the downhill bomb past the Lawrence Hall of Sciences was that much more sweet. Don't worry folks, I don't think my next act will be, say, blowing up the O'Shaughnessy Dam or anything.

One last word to the Family Nero before I sign off: send little Nero Junior to fat camp and off the Taco Bell for heaven's sake. It's great he's an honor roll student at Martinez Middle School, but that means jack when he's having his first bypass surgery at the age of seventeen.

--Matt